Lacey seemed well adjusted and as if she had made a good life for herself.
Maybe I could do that someday, but I wasn’t sure that’s what I was made for.
Lacey’s mother wasn’t as cruel as mine, after all. And Lacey hadn’t been broken because of lies and deceit.
I pushed those thoughts from my head and went back to my studio. I would relax later. Maybe I could put whatever I was feeling into my painting. Or I could simply forget.
My phone dinged, and I looked down, seeing a text from Nate.
Nate: Thinking of you. Have a good night, babe.
I didn’t smile. I didn’t do anything. I only remembered the hurt of when I’d walked away before, when my parents had ruined everything.
They had broken Nate and me before, and my mother had threatened us again.
What would they do this time?
And what would we believe?
I put away my phone and went back to work, telling myself that I would call him later. That I would pretend that everything was okay.
But that was my fear, that I was only pretending.
What would happen when reality crashed in, and I had to face what was there, and what clearly wasn’t?
Chapter 18
Nate
I stood in the studio, looking around at the art pieces, my heart racing. “I knew you were talented, baby, but I didn’t know you had this in you. I should have, but wow, I’m speechless.”
Myra blushed, even though she had her back straight, the rest of her unflappable, but that little blush told me I’d connected to something.
And, damn it, that’s what I’d wanted to do.
“I’m glad you feel that way, because my art show is coming up soon. I’d better have a good basis for what needs to go on those bare walls.”
I shook my head and took a couple of steps towards her. I cupped her face and met her gaze. “There’s enough talent in your little pinky finger to take my breath away. I’m honored that you showed me these before you showed your agent.”
She shrugged, her eyes downcast.
She had done that a lot over the past week. Pulling away slightly as if everything was a bit too much for her. I didn’t know why. We had been doing well—at least I’d thought. But she had been pulling away ever so slightly, and I didn’t know how to make her stop.
“Anyway, I have eighteen pieces, but they want twenty. I can’t decide between what I have or if I have time to figure something else out. Maybe eighteen will have to do.”
“You’ve been working your ass off for how long now? Eighteen should be plenty.”
She shook her head and went over to her easel area, looking between two pieces that I knew were nearly done. I didn’t know how she could work on more than one thing at once. I could only work on one project at a time, but she put what was at the front of her mind out on the canvas, and if it happened to be something she had started on six months ago and needed a little more work, that’s what she did.
Myra was a fantastic multi-tasker. It was a little scary.
“This whole project has been mostly portraits, although a little more abstract than usual. I’ve been harsher with my brush strokes recently, and I have a feeling it has more to do with the stress of my family than anything else. I’m not a fan of the way that’s seeping into my work.”
I looked at the two portraits, one of an older woman, someone I’d never met before in my life. She looked sad, at least until you saw her eyes. There, you saw a life long-lived, one filled with a past and perhaps hope for whatever future she held in her hands.
“This one’s stunning. You can see every year she’s lived.”
“She is one of Dakota’s regulars. I asked if I could sketch her for this project, and she readily agreed. She’s always wanted to be in a painting, especially after the movie Titanic came out, and she kept joking with her late husband about him drawing her like one of his French girls.”
I laughed and shook my head. “How many times have people actually used that line on you?”
“Mostly, it’s been you,” she said dryly and then laughed before I turned to see the other canvas.
I blinked, looking down at the man lying on his stomach on a soft bed, the angles of his back shown, a sheet covering enough for modesty but the rest on display.
His eyes were closed in sleep, a peaceful expression on his face. But there were scars, too, ones that would never go away, not after the accident.
“I didn’t know you drew me,” I said, my mouth going dry.
Myra twisted her fingers together. “This one’s probably for me. Or you. I didn’t ask. You were sleeping one day, and I got the urge to draw. And then I started painting, and here we are. You don’t need to even look at this. I’m not going to show it to anyone.”
I shook my head, then held my hand out as she tried to move the canvas away.
“I love it. I like that you covered my ass, so when my brothers see this, they won’t make fun of me. But if you want to use it, go for it. Anything you want, Myra, you can have it.”
She shook her head and pulled away again. Damn it, what was wrong?
“No, it’s not right yet. Nothing is.” She ran her hands through her hair, her motions jerky.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head again. “Nothing. I’m just a little tired. And stressed out over this. And I guess my parents, too. I’m sorry. I’m always like this before a show, it just seems to be a little compounded right now. The painting’s fine, but I don’t think it’s good enough for the exhibit.”
I put my hand over my heart and took a staggering step back. “Ouch. I’m not good enough for your show?”
Her eyes widened, and I wanted to reach out and tell her that I was only kidding, but given the way she’d blanched, I felt like I had hit a nerve, and I didn’t know how to make it better.
“Myra, I was only teasing you.”
“No, you’re right. This isn’t right for the show. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’ve done how many art shows now? Two or three like this at least. Why would anyone want to come and look at these paintings? They’re not good enough. They’re not like your friend on the other side of town.”
“Lincoln has his style, and it’s not in competition with yours. You get along with him.”
“I know how well Lincoln does. He’s brilliant. And I’m nowhere near his level.”
“Is this nerves about the show? Or is this something else?”
She started to pace, wringing her hands together.
“I don’t know. It’s just a lot right now. Everything seems to be happening at once, and I think I need to breathe.”
I froze, trying to catch up.
“Do you want to go for a drive? I haven’t had a headache in a while. I’m good for driving you around. We can go borrow Cross’s Jeep and take the top down, drive to the mountains. Whatever you want.”
She looked at me then, a mask on her face that I didn’t recognize. “No, I don’t need that. I don’t know what I need, Nate. I need some time.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to take her words as what they sounded like. A brush-off.